


Sticky Notes

by chubbystoutpenguin



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25721950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubbystoutpenguin/pseuds/chubbystoutpenguin
Summary: "It seemed that, in every facet of life, Porco Galliard had one leg up over Reiner. It was as if two decades of destroying Reiner in every single athletic and academic competition wasn’t enough — he had to one-up Reiner’s love life as well."In which Reiner made the mistake of asking Porco to pick him up from work, and Porco instead took it as an invite to hit on the cute receptionist.
Relationships: Porco Galliard & Bertolt Hoover, Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover
Comments: 21
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because there's not enough fics in the realm of a Reiner/Bertholdt/Porco love triangle.
> 
> Very loose "The Office" crossover + vague small town AU.

It seemed that, in every facet of life, Porco Galliard had one leg up over Reiner. The most recent instance being him openly _flirting_ with the receptionist that Reiner had been crushing on from afar since the start of the year. It was as if two decades of destroying Reiner in every single athletic and academic competition wasn’t enough — he had to one-up Reiner’s love life as well.

 _He doesn’t even work here,_ Reiner thought bitterly, shifting uncomfortably on one foot. Porco had come to pick him up from work (Reiner’s car was in repair), and only rushed up to the office for a short bathroom break.

Those five minutes proved fatal.

As they were on their way out, Porco had stopped in his steps when Bertholdt looked up from the reception desk — one hand tucked under his chin — and bade them a good night.

Reiner blamed himself, really. He had made the mistake of telling Porco about the gay situation in his office. He dubbed it a “situation”, because just a few months ago, a rumor had spread like wildfire through the office that the new receptionist was seen in the only gay club in town.

“It’s true,” Connie had whispered. “He was drinking with a guy.”

Mina tutted. “Why is it always the cute ones?”

“And why are you even in a gay club, Connie?” Thomas jeered, slapping the boy upside the head.

Connie had looked up sheepishly, rubbing his head. “I was on a night out with Sasha and Mina, okay? They insisted.”

Reiner had cleared his throat and chuckled nervously. “I don’t think this is any of our business, guys.”

His words, of course, were completely ignored. Reiner had always known he worked for a toxic waste of a company, with a bunch of juvenile fools, in a dying industry (who the hell still buys office supplies from salesmen when there’s online giants?). But the stability of the job had kept him hunched in his tiny cubicle for the past 2 years. Well — stable, until the day his clients figured out how to use a damn website.

The whispers about Bertholdt had continued until, like a game of telephone, the news morphed into something entirely different for the person at the far end of the line. That poor soul was Jean Kirschstein, who heard that Bertholdt came out to the office on the day that Jean was out sick, and that Jean _had_ to say something to Bertholdt as a gesture of empathy.

It was a cringeworthy, painful sight. Jean had held up his fist for Bertholdt to bump while saying: “I think it’s really cool that you’re gay, man.” He nodded unsurely, fist left hanging in the air. “Like really, _really_ cool.”

Reiner suspected Eren had something to do with this development. He had to pull Jean aside from further embarrassing himself ( _“It was just a rumor, idiot.”_ ), and immediately after, he had to stop Jean from literally attempting to throttle Eren. His suspicions were confirmed.

Of course, HR caught wind of it, and they deservedly received a two-hour meeting about diversity inclusion that concluded with their regional manager screaming some sense into them. It was the only time that Reiner approved of Shadis’s long, military-like rants.

Bertholdt was reportedly given a generous time off and some undisclosed settlement. Reiner thought he would quit and never come back, seeing as there must be a hundred other small offices out there that needed receptionists, even in a small town like this. But Bertholdt had taken a few days off (during which Jean begrudgingly took over reception duty), and came back to the office on Monday without so much as a scowl.

In fact, he had accepted the office’s mass apology with a slight blush, which warmed Reiner’s heart to the core.

“It’s alright,” Bertholdt had said — in that warm, polite tone he always used to greet visitors. “I don’t imagine coming out this way, but I _am_ out.” He gave a glance that was a small glint of warning. “As long as you all have learned your lesson.”

The office mumbled their assent, and later that day Bertholdt actually caught Reiner alone in the break room and thanked him for his role in diffusing the situation. Reiner thought that would’ve been the perfect time for himself to come out, to let Bertholdt know that he _understands_ , that he thought Bertholdt has the most gorgeous green eyes — and that he really didn’t need to fax so many documents in one day, he just wanted to go behind the reception counter where the machine was and see Bertholdt better —

Well. They always say hindsight is 20/20.

In reality, Reiner had laughed a throaty “No problem!”, slapped Bertholdt on the back, and cringed at himself afterwards. He wanted to put his head in the microwave.

Now, he realized that telling Porco about the incident was definitely a mistake, because his friend had easily identified the receptionist as the _openly gay_ receptionist, and therefore possibly receptive to his flirtations. Then again, Porco was the kind of guy who would unabashedly hit on anything — it had won his family’s business a lot of clients.

“Bertholdt, right?” Porco said, leaning against the reception counter.

Bertholdt had blinked, clearly not expecting this. But he smiled, as always, and tapped his desk name plate. “Guilty.”

Porco laughed — a fake one, Reiner could tell, but otherwise unnoticeable and charming to strangers. “Reiner’s told me about you.”

For a split second, Bertholdt looked nervous. His mossy green eyes caught Reiner’s. “Did he?” He added, quickly: “Good things, I hope?”

“Very good things,” Porco said. “But he didn’t tell me how good you look.”

The blush was unmistakable, even on Bertholdt’s olive-toned skin. Somewhere in Accounting, a woman audibly gasped. Porco continued, undeterred: “No wonder you’re the face of the office. I would’ve visited a lot more often.” Porco had the gall to throw Reiner a cheeky grin. “I hope your car never gets fixed.”

“Ha ha,” Reiner said, grimly. His brain suddenly whirred back into functionality after the inital shock at Porco’s brazenness. Somehow he never got used to it. “Come on, we can’t keep Marcel and Pieck waiting. And I’m sure Bertholdt wants to get back to work.” He nodded amiably, signaling that this was Bertholdt’s way out.

The receptionist blinked, and jumped into action: gathering stray papers on his desk and stacking them absently. “Uh. Yes — I have some calls to return, and…” His voice faltered.

That was, unfortunately, the perfect segue to Porco’s final move. Without missing a beat, he plucked a pen from Bertholdt’s desk and the post-it note stickied to the reception phone. It was a neat, bulleted list of to-dos. Porco scrawled his number at the bottom, and plastered the note back onto the phone, pressing along the glued edge with one finger. He smirked at the increasingly flustered receptionist. “Looks like you do have at least one more call to make.”

Reiner could swear he heard Mina exclaim in a muted scream: “ _Oh. My. God!”_

“Porco,” Reiner warned. Thankfully; this time, his friend obeyed and stepped back from the desk. Bertholdt was starting to break sweat.

Reiner pushed him out the front door, but it didn’t stop Porco from turning around and giving Bertholdt one final wink. There was _definitely_ an uproar of cheers the moment the door closed behind them, and he could imagine how many questions Bertholdt would get from the girls.

“What were you _thinking_?” Reiner hissed, stabbing his finger at the elevator button. “That’s my coworker!”

Porco shrugged. “So? It’s not like _you’re_ the one who flirted with him.”

“What if you two don’t work out? You know your track record,” Reiner grumbled.

Porco laughed raucously - his _real_ laugh. “Relax. He probably won’t even call me.”

That was surprising — coming from confident, abrasive, downright cocky Porco Galliard. He decided to say just that: “That kind of humility is shocking, coming from you.”

“Oh Reiner. You don’t get to be a gay man in his 20s, living in a town of buttfuck nowhere, without a few rejections.” They were out of the elevator now, and walking across the parking lot. “Something you probably don’t know of, since you were still decidedly straight up until two years ago.”

Reiner gritted his teeth, remembering his catastrophe of a relationship with Christa, his high school sweetheart. They had turned out to be each other’s beards without realizing it. Porco, on the other hand, had spent a few years after high school in the city — a mere 1-hour drive from them — and had come back “enlightened”, as he put it. He had called out Reiner’s relationship as fake, and Reiner had to begrudgingly give it to Porco for seeing through him.

“Regardless,” Reiner said, back on the topic of Bertholdt. “If he _does_ call you, and you _do,_ err, date—“ He slammed his car door a little too hard, and Porco audibly hissed at the sound of his car being potentially damaged. Reiner thought he deserved it. “It’ll be awkward for me, because I still have to see him.”

Porco started up the car. “Then quit and get another job. You’re always bitching about that place anyways.”

“So your booty call is more important than my livelihood?”

“Stop being dramatic. You know you’re always welcome to work with Marcel and me.” The car peeled out of the parking lot with a lurch, and Reiner found himself gripping at the roof handle. Porco had always been a haphazard driver. “Didn’t you match up Franz from your office with Hannah? How is that different from this?”

Reiner gritted his teeth. “This is different, because you’ve made a _spectacle_ out of it. After all I told you have happened.”

“Hey, all I get from that story is that he’s out.” Porco grinned. “Plus, looks like your coworkers were enjoying the show.”

Reiner stared out of the window sullenly, at a loss for words. He knew, that this was different from when he connected Franz with Hannah, because he wouldn’t have cared too much if his friendship with Franz fizzled had the match not work out. But he would care, a lot, if Bertholdt looked at him in a different light because he was associated with a guy like Porco, a guy who would likely leave Bertholdt in the dust after a couple of nights of fun. And above all that — he couldn’t _stand_ the idea of his friend snagging his crush just like that.

“Don’t tell me,” Porco started. “That you also like this guy?”

Reiner whipped his head around. “I—“

He didn’t even get a word out before Porco erupted into a barking laugh, much rougher than what he had used on Bertholdt. Reiner grimaced. “Is the hot receptionist your gay sexual awakening, Reiner? Have I stepped on your poor toes?”

“Shut up, Porco,” Reiner said sullenly, looking out the window.

“So you’ve just been staring at him this whole time? Never even made a move?” Porco whistled. “You always need me to motivate you, huh?”

“Motivate me? That’s rich,” Reiner scoffed. “All you do is beat me at everything.”

“And that motivates you to be better!” He waved one hand dramatically. “So how about it? A bet? Like the old days?”

Reiner stiffened. Back when he and Porco were younger, they would always bet on who would score better in certain tests, who would run faster in races, who would be first to get the next belt in karate. Porco won most of them, even if only by a hair’s breadth. The bets had come at the cost of Reiner’s toys, lunch money, and even _hair_ once. Porco had shaved his head bald himself, bark-laughing the entire time, while Reiner grimaced. The bets had led to a few heated scuffles between them too. Marcel would begrudgingly separate them every time, until the older boy finally sat them down and barked an ultimatum that the bets had to stop right then and there.

It was a complicated friendship.

While the idea of going back to their long-winded rivalry lit up a dormant competitive spirit within Reiner, somehow he didn’t feel right doing it. Of all the bets, Bertholdt was something he felt like he couldn’t afford to lose. It was awfully dramatic, of course, for someone who had merely stolen glances at the man from afar, and had short (yet pleasant) chats with in the office. But he would never want to see Bertholdt upset or heartbroken, even if he could only be his friend.

“It’s not right to bet on people,” Reiner finally said, gruffly.

Porco shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I’m not holding myself back.” Reiner glared at him, to no effect. He continued: “Tell you what. How long is your car going to be out of commission?”

Reiner blinked at the sudden change in topic, but relented. “Two weeks or so. It’s pretty busted. Pieck agreed to give me a huge discount, but she said she’ll have to prioritize her other clients.”

“Well then,” Porco nodded. “You’ll have two weeks to ask the receptionist out, or one of these days—“ He flashed a toothy grin, and pointed at himself with his thumb. “—He’ll fall for one of my lines.”

Reiner groaned, and massaged his brow. It was going to be a long two weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reiner, unfortunately, still has to go to work.

“Play nice,” Marcel said, as he dropped Reiner off at work. “I need you alive to help prepare for our housewarming tomorrow.”

Reiner scowled at his housemate. “Are you kidding me? Save it for your brother.”

Marcel sighed dramatically. “I’m too old for this, Reiner. I can’t break up your fights anymore.”

“I’m not going to fight Porco over this, Marce.”

“So you say. That bowling match last night was… interesting, to say the least.” Marcel looked at Reiner. “Please. We can’t get banned from that place. I have a high score streak.”

“Can’t I just say thank you for the ride, and move on with my day without a lecture?”

“Suit yourself. But seriously, Reiner.” Marcel clasped his hands together in what Reiner assumed was meant to be a sage gesture. “You know by now that Porco gets off on aggravating people. Just be cool, and he’ll lose interest on his own.”

Reiner groaned. “Can you just pick me up from work today?”

“Porco already insisted on doing it.” Reiner thought he saw Marcel’s lips quirk up to an amused smile, and he wondered if Marcel was actually enjoying this show. “Well. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Reiner said gruffly, turning towards the office building as Marcel drove away. He was not looking forward to the day.

Going into the office, in any other circumstance, would’ve been a pleasant experience. Reception was the first thing you saw when you entered the office, and Bertholdt would always be there to flash a polite smile at him. They often even shared a light-hearted morning chat, where Bertholdt would make Reiner taste-test a new brand of candies. Shadis had, at least, been gracious enough to let the receptionist select and buy his choice of confectionaries for the reception candy bowl — within budget, of course.

But Reiner didn’t really know what kind of greeting he would get, after that spectacle yesterday. No doubt it would be infamous, even amongst the office’s long history of wacky incidents.

He trudged out of the elevator and into the office, flinging the door open a little harder than he wanted to. It banged against the wall, visibly jolting Bertholdt. A pair of pigtails popped out of the divisor behind Bertholdt’s desk, then sighed demurely: “Oh. It’s just you, Reiner.”

It was difficult, but Reiner managed a brotherly grin. “Good morning to you too, Mina.”

“Where’s your friend?” The girl skipped out from behind the thin wall and leaned against the reception counter. She looked at Reiner expectantly, then at Bertholdt. The receptionist was decidedly avoiding eye contact, fixating his gaze on his computer.

“Yeah. About that…” Reiner nodded at Mina. “Can you give us a minute here?”

“Of course,” Mina said, standing up and disappearing behind the divisor. Bertholdt started to open his mouth, but Reiner held up a finger to his lips, shushing him. He had a suspicion he needed to confirm. Silently, Reiner tiptoed behind the divisor and - lo and behold - found Mina, Sasha and Connie with their ears pressed flush against the barrier, expressions scrunched in scrutiny. Reiner had never even seen Connie or Sasha arrive at the office earlier than him — they were always the last to come in, and the earliest to leave. The trio jumped away at the sight of Reiner.

“We’re not eavesdropping! We’re just—“ Connie was immediately out of excuses. “God, I just want to know the gossip, okay? Sasha and I already left yesterday when Porco-gate supposedly happened, and I don’t even know what this Porco guy looks like—“

Sasha chimed in. “Is he gonna come in again? At lunch? In the evening? If so, what time and can he make it by 6, because Connie and I need to eat at 6.30 and—“

Reiner waved his hand dismissively, and went back to reception. He gestured towards Bertholdt, and the two left for the break room at the back of the office, which was thankfully empty at this hour. Technically, it was connected to the pantry area, where Shadis was groggily brewing a pot of coffee, but Shadis’ hearing was shot to hell, and so was his nose for gossip. They were, relatively, safe.

“I just want to say,” Reiner said, putting up his hand. “That I’m really sorry about Porco’s behavior yesterday.”

Bertholdt blinked. “Oh. That’s alright.” He twiddled with his fingers and, in a self-conscious effort to stop, held his hands together in a polite clasp instead. “You really don’t need to apologize, Reiner.”

Reiner paused. Why did Bertholdt say that? Was it because Porco’s advances were welcome? Does Bertholdt _like_ Porco? Oh god, Bertholdt likes men who use too much hair gel and dress like a 80’s punk biker? Because if so, Reiner was totally and utterly disqualified from the running.

But he composed himself, and managed to reel back to rational thinking. Bertholdt probably was just saving Reiner’s feelings, as he always was with everyone. He mustered a big smile. “No. Really. It was completely inappropriate. But don’t worry — I knocked some sense into him.” Except he didn’t, and Porco was definitely coming again that evening with a barrage of new one-liners.

Bertholdt smiled wanly. “I really don’t mind, Reiner,” he said. “I guess I was… wondering what _you_ thought of it.”

Reiner blinked. “I mean, I — uh—“ He struggled to find the words. And when Reiner struggled to find words, his fallback was to assume his big brother role. “You can do whatever you want, of course. Porco’s a bit much, but he’s nice.“ Oh great, now he’s wing-manning Porco Galliard. To his own crush. “I won’t lie and say it’s not a bit awkward… but hey! Do your thing!” He guffawed at this, and he could feel Bertholdt staring at him like he was a madman.

“Okay,” was all Bertholdt’s reply. “Well. I’m glad we cleared the air.”

Reiner nodded, shakily. “Yeah. Sure.” What just happened? Did he just greenlight Bertholdt to go out with Porco?

There was a beat of silence between them. The only sounds that could be heard were the rumbling of the old coffee brewer and Shadis’ silent curses. “Well,” Bertholdt started, gesturing vaguely. “I should get back to work.”

Reiner nodded, and Bertholdt walked past him before stopping abruptly in the doorway. He turned around, and added: “Oh. I left a note on your desk. Some new clients called while you’re out, and I told them you’d give them a call back.”

Reiner was relieved at some semblance of familiarity between them. “Jean’s going to lose it if he ever catches on that you’ve been routing a lot of new accounts to me.”

Bertholdt shrugged. His lips tugged to the smallest hint of a smirk. “You’re the best salesman.” He cleared his throat, as Reiner reeled at that revelation. “But yeah. Just let me know if you have on too much.”

Reiner nodded. “I will.”

When Reiner was back in his cubicle, he copied the numbers from the neon green sticky note, and proceeded to add the note to the growing stack in his drawer. They were all from Bertholdt, written in that loopy, cursive handwriting that Reiner couldn’t help but admire. His own handwriting was a chicken scrawl, and worsening day by day ever since he started working. Everything could be done with a computer nowadays.

That was probably why he cherished the notes even more. Most of them were numbers or names of clients, but occasionally Bertholdt would slip in a “Happy Monday!” or a little doodle of their coworkers (mostly of Jean or Connie). Even better than that, he had one purple note that said “Happy Birthday, Reiner”, with a rather flattering doodle of himself in a birthday hat. Bertholdt probably did this with everyone, but he’d like to daydream that _he_ was the most frequent recipient of the messages. Even if Bertholdt only did so because he felt indebted to Reiner for the Jean incident.

But, like all other daydreams, it was short-lived. Reiner had to come back to reality and to the office that smelled vaguely of sweat and cheap cologne. The old AC unit droned in his ear. Reiner sighed and picked up his phone, dialing his first sale call of the day.

———

The morning went on sluggishly, but it was finally noon. His coworkers had mostly vacated to the break room or to the strip of fast food chains downstairs. Reiner stood up and stretched for what would be the umpteenth time that day. Sure, he did it because he was a 6-foot-something man who hunched over a computer for a living, but he also liked to glide his eyes towards reception and see Bertholdt. It seemed that the receptionist was, at this very moment, drifting off. He had one hand tucked under his chin, and his lids were fluttering shut every few seconds. Reiner decided to give him a little pick-me-up.

He gathered the papers he had absent-mindedly doodled on, and headed towards reception.

“Sleepy?” Reiner said, coming up behind the reception counter, and Bertholdt jolted awake.

“Reiner!” Bertholdt exclaimed, looking flustered. He spun back in his office chair to face him. “Sorry. I must have dozed off a little.”

Reiner laughed. “I’ll make you some tea after I faxed these.”

“You don’t have to do that…” Bertholdt paused, and tilted his head. “You know I don’t drink coffee?”

Reiner coughed. “Uh, yeah. I notice how you’re always using the tea bags in the pantry.”

Betholdt hummed. “You’re observant.” He quickly added: “I guess I’m not surprised. You’re always taking care of everyone.”

“Not everyone,” Reiner said, before he could stop himself.

Bertholdt blinked, and Reiner quickly busied himself with putting his papers into the fax machine, punching in the Galliards’ office number. He had told Porco and Marcel a lie to explain for the random faxes that came throughout the day. _“Oh, Shadis is just always up my ass, and I need to look busy. Just ignore my faxes, please, or he’ll find out.”_ Porco shook his head; Marcel raised an eyebrow, but they both dropped it. The truth was, Shadis hadn’t cared much about the particulars of his employees, especially since Erwin from their rival branch was promoted over him for a corporate executive role. Reiner just had to make sure his sales figures were high, and Shadis wouldn’t bat an eyelash even if Reiner was outright goofing off in the middle of the day.

The deeper truth was, he just wanted an excuse to look busy _and_ talk to Bertholdt.

Reiner cleared his throat and resumed their conversation, as the fax machine started whirring. “Slow morning for you so far?”

Bertholdt stretched. “Yeah. Not a lot of things to do. Though—“ He rustled through a folder and pulled out a piece of paper. It was a sketch of a hilly landscape, and Reiner stared in awe at it. “Shadis asked me to draw something for his daughter’s art assignment. He said she only likes to color.”

“It’s really good, Bertholdt.”

“Oh?” Bertholdt smiled sheepishly. “It’s just a basic sketch. But thank you, I hope Shadis is happy with it.”

“He should be thrilled. Why can’t his kid do her own thing?” Reiner scoffed. “Don’t you want to keep your work?”

Bertholdt blinked, and shrugged. “It’s just something generic.”

Reiner felt slightly frustrated at Bertholdt’s passiveness. Sure, Bertholdt’s agreeable nature had won the office over, but Reiner couldn’t help but feel protective when others took advantage of the receptionist’s kindness.

“Well, I think you have some real talent,” Reiner concluded.

Bertholdt’s cheeks were starting to tint pink. He clearly was the type who couldn’t take compliments with stride. “Thanks, Reiner.” He paused, and clasped his hands together. He looked pensive. “Do you think you’d want to—“

The door to the office opened with a jangle, and Bertholdt swiveled around in his chair quickly, facing forward. Reiner was irritated; he wanted to know what Bertholdt was going to ask him to do (to see another sketch? To eat lunch together? To go on a _date_?), but he was even more flummoxed to see Porco standing in the door way, smirking. He waved. “Yo, Reiner.”

Reiner gaped. “Porco, what are you doing here?”

His friend shrugged. “It’s lunch time, thought I’d stop by. I was overseeing some construction nearby.” That seemed like a plausible explanation. The Galliards owned a well-known construction company and Porco was often on the field. Then again, Reiner was sure the man had other intentions, as Porco leaned over the reception counter. “How are you doing, Bertholdt?” Yep, there’s the ulterior motive.

Bertholdt seemed to handle himself better today, even if he was fiddling with the sleeve of his sweater in what seemed like a nervous tic. “Oh— good. I was just talking to Reiner…” He gave Reiner a little glance, then looked back. “Porco, is it?”

“So you got my name. Reiner filled you in?”

Bertholdt nodded, and Reiner glared at Porco from behind him. “You never stopped by for lunch before, Porco.”

“Not for your ugly mug,” Porco jeered, literally sticking a tongue out at Reiner. “But I have incentive now.”

“Classy,” Reiner murmured. He supposed he could be grateful that Porco at least chose to show up at a time when the office was practically empty.

Bertholdt adjusted his seat uncomfortably. “Well, uh, I brought lunch, but maybe we could all eat together?” He looked at Reiner, then at Porco, then back at Reiner. His eyes seemed to be pleading with Reiner.

“Don’t worry, I’m not staying,” Porco said, causing Bertholdt to snap his attention back to him. “I’m really just here for a little pick-me-up. I was out all morning supervising people.”

“Let me guess. Everyone didn’t do well enough,” Reiner quipped. He knew that Porco had standards that bordered on obsessiveness. It was probably why he beat Reiner in everything.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a perfectionist,” Porco said. “If I weren’t around, most of the jobs would probably not be done on time. Speaking of which…” He nodded at Bertholdt. “I think I need to tell one more person off for leniency.”

Bertholdt gawked. “Oh?”

“You haven’t called me.”

A stillness swept through them until Bertholdt suddenly leapt into action, nearly ripping his drawer open. He rummaged through it for a second before pulling out a post-it note. Reiner recognized Porco’s sharp, almost angry scrawl at the bottom of the note.

“I didn’t throw it out,” Bertholdt said, as if he was a child caught with one hand in the cookie jar. “I just— forgot. Yeah.”

Porco blinked. “So you _are_ going to call me?” Reiner felt his heart sink.

“No—!” Bertholdt put up his hands. “I mean, I don’t know, it seems like a conflict of interest…” He gestured towards Reiner. “Reiner and I work together.”

“Oh?” Porco turned his attention to the reception candy bowl, sifting through until he found a mini chocolate bar. He ripped the package open and bit into it. “What’s work without a little drama, though? Besides—“ Porco pointed the chocolate at Reiner. “Reiner doesn’t mind.”

A load of lie. “I mind if Bertholdt doesn’t feel comfortable.”

Porco sighed, and looked at Bertholdt. “Is this really the first time someone has hit on you at the office?”

The receptionist rubbed at the back of his head. “Well… no.”

It’s Reiner’s turn to gawk. “ _Who?_ ”

Bertholdt looked flustered. “Just one of the random salesmen that came by the office.”

“Oh, and I’ll bet that’s not the only time,” Porco said, scrunching up his candy wrapper and tossing it perfectly in to the trash can. “In fact, I’m not surprised if someone at the office has been hitting on you this whole time, and you just missed it.”

Reiner _really_ wanted to throttle Porco now, despite his promise to Marcel.

But Bertholdt didn’t look fazed. He simply laughed. “I doubt that. Reiner, though, is really popular. The ladies from the office downstairs always come by to say hi.”

Porco gave Reiner a wicked glance. “Huh. I bet they’re not Reiner’s type, though. He has very specific interests.” To Reiner’s relief, Porco abruptly switched the subject before Bertholdt could react. “You should come to Reiner’s housewarming party, by the way. It’s tomorrow. I’d love to see you in something other than these sweaters.”

It was truly a Porco move to extend invites for a party that was not even his. But Reiner could forgive this one, as he himself had been obsessively refreshing his housewarming event page on social media over the past week, crossing his fingers for Bertholdt’s RSVP.

But the final answer was disappointing. “Oh, I forgot about that. I’d love to, but…” Bertholdt rubbed his neck. “I think I have an art show I want to go to—“

The conversation was interrupted when they heard a loud knock. They all turned to the source. It was Shadis, peering through the blinds of his office and knocking on the glass that separated him from the rest of the cubicles. He was beckoning at Bertholdt frantically, holding a cell phone to his ear. Bertholdt leapt up as if he was on fire, grabbed his notepad and pen, and muttered a hushed “Excuse me,” before practically sprinting into Shadis’s office. The blinds shuttered shut again.

“Geez,” Porco said, rustling through the candy bowl again to hunt for another chocolate. He came out empty. “What was that about?”

Reiner shrugged, absently passing in his last paper into the fax machine. He might as well look busy in front of Porco. “His wife’s probably down his throat about something. He always gets Bertholdt to take notes and do all the making up.” Porco raised an eyebrow, and Reiner clarified: “He gets Bertholdt to pick the right flowers to send, the right restaurants to make dinner reservations at. Sometimes Shadis would even put his wife on speakerphone and have Bertholdt put up cue cards to tell him what to say.”

“During office hours? I thought your boss was a hardcore stick-in-the-mud.”

“You mean like you?” Reiner earned a thwack on the head. Porco had thrown a licorice at him. He caught it, saving it for later. “Nah. Shadis goes on rants when we don’t reach our quota, but for the most part he’s—” Reiner stopped himself, detecting the grave he was digging. “Flexible,” he finished, unsurely.

“Hmm,” Porco muttered, leaning against the counter. Reiner didn’t like the look on his face. It was that of Porco _thinking,_ of him unraveling things and seeing through Reiner. The smirk that bloomed on Porco’s face was answer enough. “So those faxes, Reiner…” He pointed at the machine, still whirring busily.

_Oh shit. Shit shit—_

“You just want an excuse to come to reception five times a day, don’t you?”

 _Fuck_. Reiner hated his friend.

“Oh, this is rich,” Porco said, drumming his fingers on the counter. “I haven’t seen you this whipped since Christa Lenz. Except that was just you trying to fit in. This, though…” Porco grinned. “You just made it more fun for me, Reiner.”

“What kind of friend are you?” he mumbled.

Porco simply blew a kiss.

The door to Shadis’s office opened and closed, and Bertholdt came out, looking frustrated. He sat back on his chair. “Shadis forgot his anniversary, so guess who gets to play janitor.”

“I think I know the answer,” Porco said. “Well. That’s my cue to leave then.”

Bertholdt smiled wanly. “Sorry about that. You really can stay and have lunch with Reiner or something. I’ll give you a badge.”

“No need. I see him enough.”

Reiner didn’t even bother throwing a glare for that.

“I’m just happy I got a little dose of sugar.” Porco smirked. “And I’m not talking about the chocolate.” His eyebrows knitted as he eyed the candy bowl. “Though a refill of those would be nice.”

“I’ll—“ Bertholdt’s words were caught in his throat. “I’ll look into that.”

“Great,” Porco said, smiling a dazzling grin. He turned away and walked out the front door, gesturing a dial sign to his ear. “Call me.”

The moment the front door shut, Reiner turned to Bertholdt. “I’m really, _really_ sorry about that.”

“It’s alright. At least that woke me up.” Bertholdt still looked flustered, but now he was staring at the notes he took in Shadis’s office. “Reiner, I’m sorry, but… I really need to get on this.”

“Of course,” Reiner said, gathering his papers. “I’ll heat up your lunch and get you some tea.”

Reiner thought Bertholdt would object out of timidness, but the receptionist simply sighed with relief. “Thank you. My lunch box is the—“

“—The blue one with floral patterns on the top shelf, I know.”

When Bertholdt stared, Reiner simply shrugged. “You’re one of the few who packs lunch.” He couldn’t help but follow: “And you always use the same container as my grandma.”

At this, the receptionist laughed, and Reiner felt a warmth pooling in his chest. Porco may make Bertholdt blush, but at least Reiner was the one who could draw out that delightful sound. “Be right back.”

It didn’t even occur to him until he was home that night, that he had forgotten to follow up on what Bertholdt was going to ask him to do together. Reiner cursed. He’d have to wait until Monday for that. For now, he needed to focus on preparing five pitchers worth of margaritas for the party. Reiner shuddered. He already regretted inviting his coworkers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really taking liberties here, but I enjoy writing whipped!Shadis. Let me know of your thoughts, especially if anything is confusing!
> 
> Also - tweet me anything Reibert on Twitter: https://twitter.com/stoutpengi


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